Until the Sun Hast Risen
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: After the fall of Voldemort, all appears well, but what is really still lurking in the shadows? A death by which all saw her perish, she arises again with grit and relish. Claiming a soul as one of her own, until that is, destiny is sewn. HPTR BLTR HPGW
1. i: Entrance of a Demon

**Until the Sun Hast Risen  
~-~ **

Prologue: Entrance of a Demon

Neither vapor nor air entailed to its quality; something a Muggle, perhaps would call fog sprung into the minds of all whom watched it, peculiarly float along the dais before gently taking off towards the celestial heavens above; where rejection proclaimed its mark, but also where refuge appeared in the solid form of a sanctuary. It was almost an art, floating away like this, as though one were weightless in all description…

This did not faze the oddly opaque water-vapor form. Sailing higher into the sky, the clouds revealed the location; a quaint cottage with many floors stacked upon itself as a haphazard tower of Exploding Snap cards. Their defenses were weak; the Dark Lord was at present, vanquished from the world, but they, the Wizarding World, overlooked the small fact that more than one Death Eater still lingered, despite the hushed undertone that spoke of the death of the prestigious one whom had clawed the way to the top of Voldemort's ranks with effort unmatched. This title, this recognition of the deeds that one such as her committed caused her to revel in superiority. Surely, the Dark Lord would find her more perchance to love if she greeted him with the news that he had never failed; only been overclouded for a brief moment of death. She yet knew that he was afraid of death. She took kindly to this fear, despite her nature; for she followed all steps that he once stood upon, for she would emulate him in every way if he were to somehow, someday, hold her in his affections for the arts of evil that eclipsed their minds so completely.

Descending as though a sheet upon water in the moonlit night, she entered through the open window, half-expecting that Blood-Traitor to be awake, with all those pressures upon him, not to mention _Freddie's_ death. But this was not so. He slept soundly, and if the vapor could smirk, she would have at that moment. His breaths fell lightly upon the warm summer's night air, and she descended further, almost to the point where she could touch his nose, and taint his soul once more. There was only one problem; Harry Potter slept in that Blood-Traitor's arms, the only sister of _Freddie_, and daughter of the one who had called her, the vapor, at death's door for naught but a moment, until she regained the slightly puzzling form of almost a Patronus with no animal to inhabit. This suited her. If her Master had triumphed over such events, so could she.

Bracing for the impact for a moment, she hovered, almost to Harry's nose, and cringed into more compact of a position. The very thought sickened her of entering into a body of a teenager, a Blood-Traitor, of unclean blood no less! A Half-Blood, which mimicked the Dark Lord in most entirety, she smiled a manic smile before allowing herself to enter his nostrils entirely by his own breaths. If not from the outside, from having no body, she would destroy him on the inside, a slow and painful death if she ever saw one. Let the fun begin.

* * *

**A/N:** _Not too bad of a beginning, was it? This is my first full fan-fiction outside the realm of MMAD, so I haven't a clue whether it is acceptable for any other people out there besides the dear ones on the Harry Potter Boards. No, this does not mean that I am abandoning MMAD, (sorry to all of those who wish I were!) but rather posting something else for a change. ;] I beg of you to review-- the chapters are about double this length on average so it will get longer, I promise. I will post every two weeks or so._


	2. I: My Love is Yours for the Taking

**Until the Sun Hast Risen  
~=~ **

Chapter One: My Love is Yours for the Taking

_He was bleeding, but not from an ordinary wound. His eyes were shining red, filming through the darkness that eclipsed him. Red moisture gathered at his tear ducts, but he dare not brush them away; _he_ might be watching the progression of his pain. Harry did not want _him_ to see the pain flowing freely through his right arm that he refused to clutch in alarm and agony as he would normally do._

_A cackle filled his ears, and Harry lost control of his actions, and all of himself. He raised his head from the bear-bitten ground covered with scarlet and ivory snow before gazing at the Dark Lord before him._

"_Well, far better than your predecessors in my throng…" the Dark Lord fingered his wand with interest for a moment before striding aimlessly towards Harry, and kneeling beside him. Despite himself, a great deal of satisfaction hung in his chest, as though Harry _liked_ to please Voldemort. No, not liked. Loved._

"_Aha! The Dark Lord KNOWS I am far better than the rest!" Harry's voice rose to a screech and his lips felt softer, more rounded, less likely to utter something vile or cruel to even the worst of Darkness he encountered. This was disturbing, but what disturbed him more was that he enjoyed feeling this way, as though he strove to become as Dark as the Dark Lord himself._

"_Yes, he knows. Your abilities far outweigh your lack of other words. However, I'm certain we can attend to that matter in due time…" he murmured softly. Harry squirmed with anticipation. This was the moment. The moment that all would reveal everything unto him and his soul. Voldemort's soul, that is. He longed to have him touch him in the way he stroked Nagini at night. He was so close; he could almost taste his lips in his mouth…_

_The moment passed, and Voldemort swept to his chair facing the fire, lost in what appeared to be thought. Hesitantly, but daringly, Harry rose from his position, and crawled to the armchair, draping his arms that were not his over the head, and gently moved them towards Voldemort's slightly exposed shoulders that were frail and eerie looking._

"_My Lord, the world must seem unfair to you…" he trailed off in the deepest purr he could muster, growing slightly nauseous at the words that escaped his throat against his will. His arms, nearly touching Voldemort's neck held poised and ready, struggled briefly to remain hesitant. It was not in his best interest to rush things upon anyone, the Dark Lord included! Seduction came slowly, craftily, in the most proficient way. Harry knew this, and held his desires briefly, waiting for his companion's response._

"_It is not unfair. Merely useless, in my opinion. What good is there for others to love when death arrives the next day?" He answered in a low voice, almost a provocative one and laughed in a sudden fit of mania. Harry trilled at the thought of Voldemort's voice. He was so close, and yet so far._

"_My Lord, you have earned the respect from a great deal of _unworthy_ people. I will not disappoint you…" he ended in a whisper in Voldemort's ear, and wound himself before the Dark Lord, blocking his view of the magnificent fire before him._

"_There is truth in only one part of you. Do not lie to Voldemort; he knows, he always knows…" _

_Harry's eyes moved away, and instead focused upon the mirror opposite him in the distance. He was not there. Why could he not see his reflection?_

_Brushing his long and suddenly frizzy hair from his eyes, he came upon a startling fact: when Bellatrix moved, he moved also. He _was _Bellatrix…_

His eyes opened to reveal his surroundings that were normal. A typical Weasley room, beneath a Weasley roof, entangled in a certain Weasley's arms…

This sickened him, and he rolled out of Ginny's embrace, only to find that she slept on. Perhaps he could fully evade her without her waking; it was worth a try. She _was _a Mudblood after all.

What was he thinking? He shook his head vigorously in the moonlight, trying to clear his head. He loved Ginny. He loved her with each breath he took, and he took them gratefully because of her. Why should this night feel any different? He had longed for her for so long that perhaps because he now had her again, he had forgotten how she felt against him. Yet, he was so sure he loved her. So certain that he continued on searching for the horcruxes because of her, to protect, to honor her, to win her affection all over again after the war was over. Was the victory that he had triggered been for nothing?

"No," he thought aloud, stiffening as Ginny stirred beside him. Perhaps sleeping in his own room would clear his head more thoroughly and sort out his feelings for the thousandth time of Ginny. He had breathed her after all, what was more; he thought he had loved her. Was this lust or love? Surely, he could tell the difference between the two; Cho was a prime example of that.

Shaking his head again, Harry crossed the room, avoiding the creaky floorboard with caution before reaching the door. There, he paused for a moment, and turned back to gaze at Ginny's sleeping form; her hair was speckled with lunar light that poured graciously from the window beside her, yet Harry felt no pang of affection that he had before he had laid with her two hours earlier. There was nothing in his heart, and the creature that was created in her presence had disappeared, never to return. Why couldn't he remember loving her?

* * *

**A/N: _Reviews don't look too promising at this point, (considering I have none), but I will not be slaughtered by this! :D This is my only fan-fiction that I'm neutral about your opinions, really, but I'd still like to know how I'm doing. I'm posting for the public's enjoyment and not for my own. Now, there's an interesting piece of news for you. ;D If you desire me to continue, by all means review. If not, well... I suppose I'll get the message eventually. :D Oh yes... The title was inspired by Skillet's "Whispers in the Dark". Beautiful, dark song. _**


	3. II: Speculation

**Until the Sun Hast Risen  
~-~ **

Chapter Two: Speculation

Sunshine gathered at the foot of his bed, and quite rested, Harry awoke, gnashing his teeth once he took in his surroundings. Blearily rubbing his eyes, he attempted to recall what had transpired the night before to no avail. It had something to do with Ginny. Everything had to do with Ginny. Apart from today, Ginny was what his life centered around. Surely, he could be selfish for a day and be alone? Yes, that would serve his purposes.

After nonchalantly pulling on nondescript clothes with little thought, Harry considered charming his food, (which judging by the aromas filling his room gave him reason to imply that breakfast was nearly ready), to his room instead of having to eat in the company of others. It would be far quieter that way, and perhaps he could think properly without everyone talking so loudly. Yes, thinking today would be nice… He could stand solitude at any given moment, having had endured in such horrid ways summers before…

At this thought, anger and hate flashed through his mind as a knife through paper; he suffered, and yet, was still expected to carry out the pretence that people held of him. 'The Boy Who Lived' thrived as long as he pursued his 'attention-seeking' endeavors. Harry shook his head in fury. These people, the Wizarding World relied upon him to fix all of the problems concerning Voldemort, but once he began to open up and tell the truth, every one of them turned their backs on him, only to call him cowardly and weak when he was so certain he was not. When others had firmly told him that he was selfless and brave and true to his story…

Harry snarled as he threw back the curtains, containing the darkness within his room and his heart. What more did it matter? He had done all that he was set to do, and Dumbledore, good grief, _Dumbledore_ was proud of him. Him of all people! He had drawn himself away from Harry to watch along the sidelines… To offer agonizing 'hints' that never aided him in his quest to find all those horcruxes. The quest that he very nearly failed. In fact, it most likely would have been for the best if Voldemort had actually killed him, then he, Harry, would be wherever Dumbledore was now, discussing their location and weather of all things!

Harry snorted. Dumbledore was no longer his mentor. Dumbledore was no longer his friend. He neither was required to know of it either. Perhaps there was a bright side to his death, if there ever was a bright side for anything.

"_So, you've finally severed ties, have you?"_

Harry grimaced against his sudden fear, but relaxed as he realized it was a thought, and not spoken words.

"_Yes, you might be saying that---"_ was that too simple to answer for his obvious fully functional mind that retained two sides. Perhaps a remnant of Voldemort's soul remained… But Dumbledore had reassured him so completely of the contrary…

"_A mind like yours should be grateful for that. If indeed you can process all of that. Voldemort was and _is_ far greater than Dumbledore ever could be, and you know it…"_

He did know it, and was slightly ashamed to admit it. It was absurd. He was burning Dumbledore's name for the thousandth time just ten minutes prior, and now he was defending who Dumbledore was yet again by his silence. Perhaps breakfast with others would certainly do him some good…

"_No it wouldn't and you know it. They are filthy Blood-Traitors who don't care of your well-being. They care only for themselves…"_

And so they did, at first. Ron only wanted company when he first met Harry, this was true, and then Harry had met his family shortly afterwards, and had marveled at it. In fact, had _longed_ for a family like that. It was all Dumbledore's doing that he had lived at the Dursley's for eleven years of his life, not to mention the particularly unpleasant summers that shortly followed his dismissal from school for the summer holidays. Oh yes, the Weasleys had helped him, even built up his self-esteem and confidence without knowledge of doing so, and yet, the ends and means always rounded to Dumbledore _this_, and Dumbledore _that_. Surely, Harry would have thrived easily in a home with other Wizarding children? He would have gladly accepted the Weasley threshold as a place to call home, but not now. The deed had already been done; he was not Harry Weasley, but Harry Potter, a solitary person in the world whom longed to blend in with others rather than stand out. What he wouldn't give for a normal chance at childhood. A normal chance at life that he never received. Surely, Dumbledore knew of his pain, and in fact, had expressed his sympathy and empathy for it, but little did Harry realize that Dumbledore protected him for all of those lonely years in the hands of incapable Muggles just to throw him in Voldemort's path, providing a shield for himself, knowing that he would be spared another year of living if he continued to guide Harry down this pre-planned path that frightened Harry beyond belief. He had grown up against his will, and it was all Dumbledore's doing. He was to blame for all the pain that Harry had suffered. His feelings of contempt for Snape were unmatched compared to this.

"_Met Severus' feelings have you? Even I did not consider you of all people mirroring his feelings, or even emulating them, but you are, and easily at that!"_

His thoughts were no longer normal, but sneering, mocking. Harry clenched his fists to keep from crying out in pain. He had once hated Severus, and now he could not bring himself to loathe him as he did before. There was Dumbledore again; he had urged Harry to trust him, and trust Dumbledore himself as well, but Harry had refused. Why had he refused, and silenced the voice of reason?

"Harry?" A thoughtful voice inquired at the other side of his door, interrupting his unshed tears and thoughts. It had a gentler ring to it, and Harry felt his chest weighted down with dread; it was Hermione.

A sharp but quick knock shortly followed it, but Harry ignored it, refusing to obey the obnoxious voice in his head to open the door and 'curse her through just once'. Perhaps if he pretended he was still asleep, she would depart…

Harry dashed to his bed, but not without tripping upon a pair of forgotten sneakers, and crashing into the bed's leg.

"Harry?" her voice grew in pitch and worry, and Harry swore in his head. Pretending was no longer an option. To face the object of his fears was foreboding, yes, but what would he do once he saw her? There apparently was something wrong with him…He hadn't felt this much on-edge since his Third Year, but that was long since past. What could possibly be the matter?

* * *

**A/N: **_R & R or I'll be lost to Davy Jones's locker! :D Just kidding, but seriously, I would like a review someday... Ah, I can but dream. :D -chases a shiny MMAD dream-_


	4. III: There's a Weasley

**Until the Sun Hast Risen  
~=~**

Chapter Three: Where there's a worry, there's a Weasley

Harry wrenched the door open with such unnecessary force that Hermione gasped when it was suddenly opened. Harry wished he could kick himself after viewing her face; she obviously was frightened of him.

"_Of course she is! You murdered the Dark Lord, and all she did was stand back and watch!"_

Harry brushed the taunting voice aside with difficulty before meeting Hermione's eyes a second time. There was something else that stirred beneath those caramel-coated eyes if hers that were so near to the shade as Ginny's. Regret? She regretted coming to see him? Fear? Worry? Concern? Yes, that was it. Dumbledore certainly would be proud of him.

"_You can read people's eyes, but the Dark Lord can read people's thoughts, emotions, desires---"_

The thought hung for a moment, and Harry was instantly transported back to his dream that he had had the night before that had disturbed him so completely. He shook his head firmly, willing those visions to flee, but they remained, even as his surroundings returned in focus…

"Are you alright, Harry? You seem a bit…distant…" Hermione inquired in a timid voice, and for a split-second, Harry wanted to wrap his bare-hands around her throat and choke her; watching her eyes pop from their sockets, and her skin turn blue as Ron wailed repetitively in the distance, her name. "Hermione! Hermione! _Hermione!_" …

Harry shook his head again, trying, and failing to clear it of such a sight. "I'm fine," he muttered in a resigned tone, knowing full well that Hermione could see right through him.

"Harry, you shouldn't blame yourself for his death…Mrs. Weasley says it wasn't your fault…"

"Of course it was my fault, Hermione. If not, he would still be here…" Of course, he was slightly baffled as to how Mrs. Weasley would forgive him for bringing about Voldemort's death, but he did not show it…

Hermione hesitated, fishing for the right words before continuing. "George doesn't blame you either…No one does. He died with a smile on his face, and if I'm told correctly, Fred _wanted_ to die laughing…"

"_Of course he did you insufferable Mud-Blood. It's a shame that I didn't get to him first, in fact. I would have gladly taken him off your hands too, after, of course, killing you first…"_

"--and well, so Ron says…" Hermione finished, evidently having continued while Harry's thoughts took a course of their own. He wanted to be left alone to vomit the contents of his empty stomach for the things he was thinking. He swallowed several times before speaking a third time.

"Ron says what?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, identifying this hard-of-hearing as a normal behavior of his, and half-heartedly encouraging it. "He says that he and you ought to get out of this house and do something before the funeral on Saturday…" she trailed off, tensely waiting for an answer from him, and Harry knew she would not take 'no' for an answer.

"_Well, of course she wouldn't! She's a Mud-Blood, and they are quite demanding…Requesting to die with their families rather than apart from them. It is _most_ unnatural…"_

"I suppose that would be alright," he answered weakly, wishing he could think of an excuse to say 'no', but he had nothing he was doing. There was no more fighting Voldemort, and the world was finally at peace. He couldn't just tell her that he was 'busy' because that excuse just wouldn't work anymore.

Hermione smiled, revealing her perfect teeth that had been repaired three years before. How odd it was for Harry to have remembered the occasion now. How different, and how easy his life was then! Pressing matters only related to school with the exception of the Tournament, and though he missed Hogwarts throughout that year, he now realized just how much he had taken it for granted, and just how much he loved that school, his first home, his sanctuary…_Hogwarts_…

"_Don't go all sentimental on me. It is truly quite disgusting, and makes me want to vomit…"_

Harry wished he could rid the voice in his head just by vomiting. If it were so, he would happily oblige without complaint.

"Aren't you coming for breakfast, Harry?" Hermione asked, concern wielding her actions a second time as she took in his vacant expression.

"Oh, yeah…right… 'Coming."

Harry wound himself down the staircase, Hermione having practically flown down the stairs to alert the others of the news of Harry's appearance. Hope filled him suddenly as he watched the others settle around the table, leaving a gaping hole where Fred's face would be smiling at a rather amusing practical joke. Harry ignored the emptiness in his chest, and settled between Ron and Hermione, trying his best to avoid Ginny's -or what he presumed to be- hurtful gaze. He could not continue their relationship, he knew, but not because of Voldemort, but because he no longer loved her, nor could he recall any moment in which he had found her lovable. She was an annoying, slimy, obnoxious little---

"Harry, could you pass the eggs?"

Harry passed them without registering who spoke. As he passed the plate, his fingers brushed against another's, and he looked up into Ginny's eyes for a split-second before returning to his own sausages and kipper piled on by Mrs. Weasley herself…Ginny's gaze was far worse than he had anticipated. It was not hurtful as he had previously surmised, but thoughtful, wondering even…Empty of all emotion and Harry found that a gaze like that attracted him to her for all the wrong reasons. She was everything he had ever needed, but he was harboring feelings for a dead wizard that he had murdered, not a young Blood-Traitor witch sitting directly across from him. She had most likely chosen the seat after he did himself just to make that eye contact. The very thought made him seethe with anger, and he cut into his kipper viciously, never pausing even when he reached the plate…

Hermione cleared her throat, and everyone glanced at her with the exception of Harry. He now glanced around the room at the dining room before him. George was seated next to Ginny, leaving the ceremonial seat next to him on his left empty where Fred should have been sitting. To the right of Ginny sat Percy, his eyes shining more red than George's were. Ginny's eyes were the only pair that was not tinged with red, indicating what had been a long weeping session. Mrs. Weasley, of course, bore the greatest battle scars of pain and suffering. Her eyes were bloodshot, and Harry merely caught quick glances at her, for as soon as she noticed someone staring, she would pick up where she left off in her housework in the kitchen, with her back to the group.

Hermione said nothing, but nudged Harry in the ribs, and whispered from the corner of her mouth, "I think your kipper is cut enough Harry…"

Harry dropped his head down to his plate, and scanned the mess of fish before him. He nodded slightly to Hermione, and decided to stomach some of the kipper. He just wasn't in the mood for eating at the moment, if at all…

_I-I-I-I_

Harry bitterly retreated up the stairs and back to his room, unfeeling, wishing he could simply melt into the floor, and watch the world go by. Would it really have been better if he had spared Voldemort, the one whom had murdered his parents without a second thought? Would he initially be in less pain now if he had decided to spare Voldemort, to give his own life for the Dark Lord, even?

"_Yes…"_

Harry could feel the yearning, the longing, the wanting and desire that placed him in this position, and he moaned aloud. The low moan was soon replaced with a lower, more aggravated groan upon instantly realizing that his desires would never be fulfilled. Voldemort was gone. Completely and undeniably gone, and he could only blame himself… That left three people that he had lead into the path of destruction. Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Sirius.

He snorted. Sirius. The name rolled off his insane brain as blood, sweat, and tears. He had led him into the path of destruction, but all for what was better. The Dark Lord nearly succeeded. Oh so very nearly, but never quite clasped his victory, for it was slaughtered as soon as the Ministry appeared and rushed to his side as he had Disapparated. Yes, Harry could see now… That was the main cause of his early demise. If not for that, Voldemort would have still lingered upon earth's fruitful soil, and then he could hold him in his embraces…Convince him of the love he held within himself for the Dark Lord, the one whom he had loved above all…

Harry shook his head quickly, fighting off the emotions, the empty emotions. The emotions he had never before felt for the Dark Lord at any rate. What was wrong with him? He had loved Ginny, and that had evaporated as quickly as it had come. He now indefinitely loved Voldemort, the source of all his dreams, and yet, this troubled him unto the point of disturbing recognition. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he snarled at his weakness. Surely, weeping would help none of his sorrows, none of the indefinable harboring feelings that concerned the man who had lived for power, and had lived to kill, nearly killing him in the process. Oh yes, there was something appealing of that concept. Voldemort nearly murdering him, but yet, he did not. Could he possibly felt an ounce of regret at almost killing him? Harry smiled wildly through his tears at this notion. Yes, that Dumbledore fool was right. Love _had_ protected him all along.

Three knocks in rapid succession pounded through his door. Sighing, Harry realized whom it was instantly. The very root of his problems at the moment. Where a worry was, a Weasley offered comfort, but Ginny was the Weasley he looked forward to see the least.

* * *

**A/N:** _Last update of 2009! (Unless I like... go crazy and publish more junk that I've been meaning to publish for weeks... Hee hee hee.) You tell me if you prefer this madness. :D_


End file.
